Childish Things
by darkbird36
Summary: Little Sam, Dean, teddy bears, and heroes. A trilogy of oneshots. Now Complete
1. TeddyDean

**Title: **Childish Things

**Summary: **Little Sam, Dean, teddy bears, and heroes.

**Warnings: **None

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the pretty, pretty boys. If I did, I would hide them away from all you horny, rabid admirers and charge money for you to look at them. I'd be rich, I tell you! RICH! Uh, yeah. Lucky for you, not mine. 

**Author's Notes: **My FirstSupernatural Fic! Actually, my fist fic in, like, YEARS. That's how much I love this show. Plus, the plot bunnies can be mighty persuasive when I go off my meds. (kidding… or am I?) This is the first chapter of three. The Teddy is actually based on my Teddy, although I roughed him up a little for this story.

Feedback is my crack, so please send me some or I might have to resort to Feedback prostitution.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Sammy was four, Dean took him to a yard sale for the fist time. A tag sale was nothing special to Dean – The Winchesters had frequented lawn sales and thrift stores for years. They were a great place to get cheap clothes and supplies. After all, their father ran their family like an army, and he would no sooner waste money on a pair of new sneakers than he would on barrettes for his hair.

Normally, John went alone and came back with the bare essentials – clothes, shoes, silver to melt into bullets, cheap wooden crosses. Every once in a while, something small for the boys – a plastic action figure or a picture book for Sammy – things Dean knew his dad had probably picked out of the standard "free" box. But even at nine, he could see the little apology in his dad's eyes when he tossed him the toy, and without even meaning to he had forgiven him.

That day, though, the yard sale was only two houses down, and John was preoccupied enough with learning a new counter curse that he had allowed Dean to take Sammy to the sale alone. He'd given Dean a twenty, reminded him that they were low on silver, and hunched over the book before him, dismissing them.

Feeling very grown up, Dean had carefully pocketed the cash and led his brother down the block. Wide eyed, his little brother had clutched his hand and wandered between shoddy makeshift tables of plywood and saw horses . A hundred tiny baubles and bright, colorful toys peppered the tabletops, gleaming hotly in the summer sun. Sammy had reached out a tentative hand several times to touch something, then pulled back as though the figurine or gadget he was looking at were a treasure he was unworthy of touching.

"Wow, Dean… look at _that_!" Sam exclaimed, pointing a chubby finger at a table full of children's toys and books.

"Why don't you go check it for silver." Dean suggested, knowing full well that they only thing Sam would find was plastic and silly putty.

"Okay." Sam breathed, already focused on a Transformer action figure in front. Dean smiled and watched his brother handle the toys like artifacts at a museum, then set his mind to finding some real silver tucked away in the cheap mess of kick knacks.

He had managed to pick out a few old, kinked necklace chains, an old ashtray, and a questionable spoon when he felt the familiar tug of his little brother's hand on his sleeve. Sammy was looking at Dean with an expression akin to wonder.

"Dean," he breathed, as though about to reveal something amazing. "They have _glass plates_!" He held out a slightly chipped china saucer, patterned with blue and white flowers. Dean's throat tightened a little. Real dinnerware was a foreign concept to his brother – the Winchesters ate out of take-out containers, cellophane bags, and paper plates. Glass plates and bowls were just unnecessary bulk when you moved as much as they did.

Sam was staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to react.

"That's great, Sammy. But we can't buy it. Put it back."

Some of the excitement in Sam's eyes faded, but he moved to put it back without argument. Already he was learning that Dean did what Dad said to do, and Sam did what Dean said to do. As Sammy gently placed the plate back, Dean craned his neck, searching…. There – a ratty cardboard box slouching next to a dust covered treadmill, "FREE" scrawled in hasty letters on the front.

"C'mere little brother!"

Sam trotted over again, a little smile on his face, like Dean had just given him a compliment or something.

"Go check out that box over there – pick something out you want." Sam's gaze followed Dean's pointing finger. His eyes lit up and a little gasp of delight escaped his open mouth. Then he was off, narrowly avoiding a distracted housewife as he dove towards the box. Dean mouthed an apology to the startled looking woman and started picking through a pile of men's clothing, wondering what Sammy would choose.

He didn't have long to wonder. Sam was back at his side in less than a minute, clutching the sorriest looking teddy bear Dean had ever seen. It was a dark brown (from grime or intent, Dean couldn't tell), it's fur matted in a way that suggested this bear had seen a couple kids come and go. The scratched glassy eyes seemed to gaze off in two different directions. The nose was a little heart shaped piece of red felt, with a small, surprised looking "O" of a mouth underneath. The ears were so flattened to its head they almost disappeared, and one arm hung, half torn, from the body. Stuffing was leaking from a hole in the bear's crotch.

"Uh…" was about all he could muster, a little taken aback that his brother would choose such a… pitiful toy.

"Dean, do I really get to keep it?" Sam asked, pulling the bear in towards his chest. Dean resisted the urge to pull the bear from his grasp and take his brother home to wash his hands and change his clothes, lest he catch some sort of plague from the filthy thing.

"Yeah, Sammy. It's yours." Dean sighed, helpless against the open hope in Sam's eyes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

That night they got Chinese food for dinner and Dean and Sam were allowed to watch the WWF video Dean had found in the FREE box – practically a holiday in the Winchester household.

Sam had curled up on the little sofa next to Dean, clutching his new bear and sighing in sleepy contentment. Dean had spent an hour after they got home cleaning the thing up, washing the grime out of the fur, re-gluing the nose when his washing scrubbed it off. He'd even sewn the arm and the hole in the crotch, little Sammy watching, giggling and turning his face away when Dean stitched up the hole "down there". All in all, the bear cleaned up better than he thought, and cleansed of the grime it even took on a worn sort of charm. It was still damn ugly, though, and Dean couldn't help but think that if it had been a real animal, someone would have shot it by now to put it out of its misery.

He was just glad his father hadn't seen the bear _before_ Operation Restore Teddy. As it was, John had frowned when he saw Sammy clutching the stuffed animal, and Dean had held his breath, waiting for his dad to chastise him for allowing Sam to get something so childish and impractical. But John was either too preoccupied to really care, or he saw the gratified, happy look on Sam's face as he made the bear dive off the back of the sofa to attack an imaginary poltergeist, complete with crappy sound effects. Dean chose to believe the latter.

Sitting in front of the TV, watching men in spandex hit each other with folding chairs, Sammy had burrowed into Dean's side and tucked the bear under his chin. He was quiet for long enough that Dean thought he had fallen asleep, but then he shifted to look up at him, an almost comical look of seriousness on his little round face.

"He needs a name." Distracted by the TV, Dean didn't realize what his brother meant at first.

"What? Who?"

"My bear. He needs a name."

"Oh. Uh, why can't you just call him 'Teddy' or something?"

"De-aaan! That's boring!"

"How about... uh… Stinky? Or Pigpen, you know, after that cartoon kid with the cloud of dirt?" Sam narrowed his eyes, apparently offended on behalf of the bear, and went back to watching TV. Several minutes went by in silence broken only by the exaggerated sounds of scripted combat coming from the TV. Then –

"I'm gonna call 'im TeddyDean." Sammy decleared, smiling like he'd just solved a difficult puzzle or something.

"What? No! You can't name it Dean, that's my name and there can only be one person per name in this family."

"That's why he's _Teddy_Dean." Sam explained patiently, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world

"But-" Dean looked at the bear, flopping over Sam's bent elbow, the offset glassy eyes and surprised mouth making it look slightly… dead. Sammy was grinning at him, not at all phased. "I'm _so_ much better looking that that…" Dean groaned, already resigning himself to his fate as bear-namesake. Sam snorted and his laid his head on Dean's leg, apparently satisfied that he had made his case.

"Why'd you wanna name your bear after me, anyhow?" Dean asked, slightly perplexed.

"'Cause he's got all these special 'bilities, like you, and he can fight like you, and he's cool, and he makes me happy." Sam proclaimed in one breath, punctuating his statement by making airplane noises and flying TeddyDean through the air like superman. Dean got a lump in his throat as he looked down at his little brother, who had unknowingly just told Dean he was Sam's hero. And, apparently, that Sam thought he could fly.

Dean put his hand on his brother's shoulder and waited until Sammy fell asleep, TeddyDean cushioned under his cheek, his breath coming in gentle little puffs. Reluctant to move, he let the tape run to the end and sat watching Sam's chest rise and fall in the grey glow of the vacant TV screen. Their father was still cloistered in his room. The house was dark and silent. Yawning, Dean leaned his head back and let his hand rest on Sam's chest. He fell asleep that way, comforted by the gentle thump of his brother's heart under his fingers, TeddyDean's off-kilter gaze keeping watch.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**AUTHORS NOTE: **First of all – thanks for all the kind reviews. The Plot Bunny's terrible, terrible appetite for feedback has been satiated for now. But remember, if the Bunny doesn't get its feedback, it may develop a taste for human flesh. And then I'm really screwed.

Secondly, I have begun the second chapter but must put it on hold for a few days. My best friend, who lives a few states away, just eloped and him and his new husband (no, that's not a typo – go gay marriage!) is coming to visit for a few days. But I swear on Dean's Impala that I will get the next chapter out as soon as I can. In the meantime, more feedback keeps me feeling warm and fuzzy inside. Thanks, and may the Fic be with you.


	2. Put aside your childish things

TITLE: Childish Things, Chapter 2

SUMMARY: Sam puts aside his childish things.

DISCLAIMER: Supernatural is, sadly, not mine. At least, that's what it says in the restraining order…

WARNINGS: Some mild language.

AUTHOR's NOTE: Chapter 2, as promised! This one's a little teensy bit more angsty, and there's a few bad words. Nothing too bad. Dean is a naughty boy. This story takes place about five years after chapter one. Please give feedback, or I'll get cranky, and then I get the urge to hurt poor Sam. :)

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I'm telling you, Sam, if those scratches get infected, you could start turning into a Livictus Demon, and then I'd have to put your sorry ass down."

"Shut up, Dean! I asked Dad and he said I won't turn into anything. And don't say ass." Sammy protested, blushing slightly. Dean didn't know why his little brother even cared – hell, he had learned more swear words from their Dad by the time _he_ was eleven than most weathered sailors. But he supposed it was all part of Sam trying to blend into the rest of the world – it was unlikely that any of his little brother's sixth grade classmates could tell someone where to stick it in language as colorful as the Winchesters could.

"Dude, its bad enough puttin' up with your stinky-_ass_ feet on a daily basis – I'm not gonna put up with slime and carrion breath too. I mean, I'm obviously already the good looking one, but shit – that would just be sad."

Sammy glared at him, un-amused. He shoved the folded clothes he held into the duffel on the bed with a sharp, irritated thrust. Dean almost felt bad for picking on him, but the truth was, he was a little freaked out. Somewhere in the last several years he had begun using this kind of goading, inappropriate humor as a coping skill. And earlier, when the demon had drawn his brother's blood _while trying to kill him_, Dean had, quite honestly, almost fainted with fear.

It was Sammy's fist real hunt – Dad had decided he was ready to start putting his training into action. And Dean knew, rationally, that practice only took you so far. If Sam were going to survive this lifestyle later, he needed to start getting experience now. But Sam seemed so much younger sometimes than Dean had _ever_ felt, and it screamed against his every protective instinct to deliberately put him in a situation where his life was in danger. So he teased, and prodded, and annoyed, because it let out the tension in small, controlled bursts rather than one big mental breakdown. And even though Sam had barely even bled, there was going to be a lot of teasing over the next few days.

"Still, you were pretty damn quick getting' out of that thing's way," Dean admitted, feeling a little bit of pride. Sam had used the duck-and roll move Dean had taught him last summer to escape more serious harm.

Sam flushed, trying to maintain an air of aloof manliness and failing spectacularly. He had the same expression he had worn the first time he had used the potty on his own, and Dean chuckled, imagining the look on Sammy's face if he were to share that particular parallel.

Standing up a little straighter, Sam cleared his throat and gestured at an empty bag on the motel room table.

"Can you toss me that bag, Dean? Mine's full."

"Dude, you're like a chick or something – you've got too much stuff. What's in there, anyways, your hair products? A lifetime supply of pantyhose? Get rid of some of that crap, Francis – I need this bag for the research books and the holy water."

Sam looked ready to argue, but glanced at his overstuffed duffle and closed his mouth with a resigned sigh. They were under orders to finish packing by the time their Dad got back with dinner. John wanted to get out of Millsford, Wyoming quick, before anyone really had a chance to know they were there.

Dean resumed his own packing, unwilling to deal with John's reaction if he returned before they had finished. He was in a sullen mood, and Dean suspected that it was his Dad's own way of dealing with Sam's close call. Despite the sometimes single-minded purpose that drove him to push his sons, to train them and toughen them up, Dean could often see a sort of horrified fear in John's eyes when the harsh reality of their life made itself obvious. Like he was only just realizing that he was raising his sons to seek out dangerous, evil, _killing_ things.

"So, should I just throw this stuff out?" Sammy asked, breaking Dean from his suddenly gloomy thoughts. He looked up to see Sam standing uncertainly by the bed, staring at a decent pile of stuff laid out beside the duffel. There was something worn and brown held loosely in his hand. Dean glanced at the clothes, two books, and rolled up magazine on the coverlet. Was that a National Geographic? Sam could be such a geek.

"Nah, leave it there – maybe the cleaning lady will want it for her kids or something. If not it just ends up in the same place." He squinted at the thing in Sam's loose grasp – it was TeddyDean. Dean hadn't sent he stuffed bear in a while. Sam must have been keeping it packed away.

"Is that your teddy bear?" Dean asked, jutting his chin at Sam's hands. Sam looked a little bit surprised for a second, like he had forgotten he was holding it, then blushed.

"Uh, yeah. I'm getting' too old for toys and stuffed animals." He stammered, tossing the bear onto the pile of clothes. He stared at a second longer before turning sharply to zip up the now roomier bag. Dean caught the moment of sadness in his brother's eyes as he turned away and sighed. Sam was trying so hard to grow up, to put away his childish things and shoulder his portion of the family's tremendous burden. Just as Dean had. But it hurt to watch Sam try to fit himself to the role of little soldier. It was so against his brother's inherent nature as a dreamer and an innocent.

Dean had read somewhere that the first three years of a child's life were the most important, developmentally. Despite the unfortunate trauma of being old enough to remember what he had lost, and how he had lost it, Dean realized that the first three years of _his_ life had been blissfully, ignorantly normal. A mom. A dad. A little brother. A home with hugs and games and open affection. He thought of the first three years of Sam's life - grief, painful adjustments, a father lost in his own tragedy, a brother not even old enough to care for himself - and couldn't help but wonder about the damage to his little brother's psyche. He wished Sam had had a least one normal milestone – a birthday party, play dates, hell, even the same zip code for longer than a month or two. Somehow, seeing TeddyDean sprawled out on Sam's old flannel shirt made Dean want to hit something, to find a target for his anger over the injustice of Sam's sacrificed childhood.

Instead he zipped up his own bag and walked it over to Sam, who was now perched on the bed tying his shoes. He heard the deep rumble of the Impala pull up in front of their room, and knew their father was waiting for them, ready to hit the road.

"Hey, now that you're a big boy and you go on hunts, you can carry some of the weapons out to the car." He said, thrusting the duffel at Sam, who rolled his eyes and glared but still shouldered the bag with his own and struggled through the door. When the door clicked shut after his brother, Dean picked TeddyDean up off the bed, remembering all the times little Sammy had shoved it in Dean's face, demanding that he join in their play, the times he had clung to it when scared or unsure, the unspoken adoration of his big brother that colored every absurd, outlandish feat of heroism Sam had ever attributed to TeddyDean.

"What the hell are you looking at, Stinky?" Dean mumbled at the bear, a little embarrassed at the way his throat had tightened up. All the same, TeddyDean was safely tucked away in Dean's bag when he left to join his family in the car.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

AUTHOR'S NOTE: All together now… "Awwwwwww….". :) One more part to go. The plot bunny has threatened to take unflattering photos of me in the morning before my coffee and post them on the web if feedback is not given. Please. I implore you. Do yourselves and me a favor and send feedback. Sadistic little rodent…


	3. Reunited

**Title: **Childish Things, Chapter 3

**Summary: **Sam and TeddyDean meet again.

**Warnings:** A few cuss words (this _is_ Dean Winchester we're talking about!)

**Author's Note: **The final chapter – yay! Please review!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Do you think Armor-all will get this blood out of the upholstery?"

"I don't know," Sam shrugged, "but if it does maybe you could get a promotional deal with the company – you know, '_For those tough demon blood stains, I reach for Armor-all'_."

"Yeah, yeah. Yuck it up, college boy. Maybe I'll use that mess on top of your head to mop it all up."

Dean smiled as Sam launched into a defense of his hair and his dignity, tuning out the specifics as he wiped down the Impala's front seat. They had just completed a difficult hunt, for once without serious bodily harm to either Winchester. The post-hunt rush of relief and satisfaction had left him feeling amiable and relaxed, and he wondered what a psychiatrist would have to say about the fact that eviscerating Hell Spawn was his primary form of recreation. Come to think of it, he wondered what a psychiatrist would have to say about Hell Spawn in general.

"God, I can't believe how _sticky_ this shit is! How did it even circulate inside that thing?" Sam griped, scraping a globule of congealed yellow fluid from the steering wheel. "Maybe it didn't circulate. The blood could have been some sort of electrostatic conductor or something…"

The disgusted, slightly amused expression was gone from Sam's face, replaced by the oh-so-familiar look of 'my giant, overactive brain has a theory'. Sometimes Dean thought Sam might have some bizarrely genius form of ADD. He wondered how his little brother's head had managed to keep from exploding.

"…you listening, Dean?" Sam's slightly exasperated voice cut into his thoughts and he chuckled. Now who had the ADD? Sam pursed his lips, looking slightly offended.

"Chill, Dude. I'm tired and my baby is covered in yellow mucus from hell."

"It's not actually mucus- in fact I think it might-"

"Sam. I repeat – I'm tired." Sam did that queer little openmouthed eye-roll of his, but shut up and turned back to cleaning his side of the front seat. Several minutes of quiet scrubbing and muttered curses later, Sam threw his rag out of the car in disgust.

"That thing's saturated – I need a new rag, otherwise I'm just moving it around." Still partially smeared with yellow goo himself and looking slightly pouty, Sam would have looked amusing if the Impala weren't in such immediate distress.

"So get one! There's some old Tees in the trunk."

Sam hauled himself out of the car and a few seconds later Dean could hear him rummaging through the trunk. They had fallen back into an easy camaraderie lately, working together in a well-oiled machine when they hunted , joking and bickering good naturedly during their downtime. Dean would never admit how much he had missed his brother when Sam had left for Stanford. Those years without him had seemed long and humorless. Their dad was an amazing hunter, but he was all business all the time, and hunting with him had seemed clinical and militaristic. Hunting with Sammy was like some sort of insane, dangerous, manic adventure.

"Um… Dean?" Sam called hesitantly from the back of the car. He sounded strange, and Dean felt a sudden surge of concern. The never-ending loop of _gotta protect Sammy_ that ran through his mind always amp-ed up during hunts, and it made him jumpy about his brother for a while even after the danger passed.

"Sam?" He made his way to the trunk, hand resting on the hilt of his knife, just in case.

Sam wore a look of mingled confusion, surprise, and embarrassment. He was holding TeddyDean in his hands. Oh. _Shit._ Dean had stashed the bear in the back of the trunk years ago, never intending Sam to find it. He had almost forgotten it was there himself. _Quick – think of something to say._

"Hey! TeddyDean! Whadda you know…" _Brilliant, Dean. Way to sidestep a potentially awkward situation._ Sam blinked at him and looked down at the stuffed animal.

"You kept him." Sam said, sounding equally confused and touched. Dean shrugged uncomfortably. This was quickly turning into a colossal chick flick moment. Any minute now cartoon bluebirds would appear and burst into song.

"Don't make a big deal out of it, okay? And grab those tees already, will you? That stuff's gonna harden if we don't clean it up, and God help you if my baby is disfigured by demon slime because you couldn't hustle with the rags." He stalked back to the front of the car, not waiting to see if Sam followed his directions, praying that he would just drop it. He was too tired to properly deflect his brother's questions.

Sam returned to the front seat with the tees in hand and a small, stupid grin on his face. Dean glared at him, but he returned to scrubbing without a word, and they finished the cleanup in silence.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A faint moan pulled Dean from the depths of a blissful sleep, and he was upright with knife in hand before he was fully awake. He took a moment to orient himself – _Hotel room, Wrightville Nebraska_ – him and Sam sharing a queen sized bed in the only available room. Sam moaned again and Dean recognized the distressed sound of his brother trapped in a nightmare. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face before returning the knife to its place under his pillow. He wanted to wake Sam, but if he were having a vision and Dean woke him, they could miss potentially life-saving details. Laying down again, he reached out and rested a hand on Sam's back.

"It's okay, little brother." He whispered, hoping that Sam could hear him through whatever macabre thing he was living in his head. It seemed to work and he stilled under Dean's hand. A minute passed in silence, and Dean was drifting back to sleep when Sam rolled over and said his name in a small, hesitant tone.

"Yeah, Sammy." Dean mumbled, trying to rouse himself again. A choked sigh was his only response. "Vision?" he asked

"No." came the curt answer. Oh. One of _those_.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, but… I just don't want to go back to sleep yet." Dean heard the unspoken _'will you stay up with me?'_ in his brother's voice and sat up a little, resolved to being awake.

"Do you want to turn on the TV?"

"No."

"Okay, do you wanna….. talk?" Dean asked tentatively.

"Why did you keep my teddy bear, Dean?"

_Wow, pounced right on that one, didn't ya, Sammy?_

"Ah, Jesus, Sam… Do we have to have this conversation now?" _Or ever?_

It was quiet for a moment, and Dean felt an infuriating surge of guilt. He could almost hear the miserable thoughts he knew were seeping into Sam's mind, leftovers from whatever painful memory had replayed in his sleep. _Goddamn it_ but he was a sucker when it came to his brother.

"Look. Everyone has _something_ they hang on to from their childhood. You know, sentimental value, personal history, blah blah blah…. You're the big fan of 'normal', I just thought you might want it some day."

The truth was, he had originally planned on saving it for Sam's kids – the kids Dean was going to make damn sure he got the chance to have. TeddyDean was part of the secret promise that he had made to himself and to Sam - that someday his brother would have another chance at the happiness he had had, and lost, with Jess. But if he were to be truly honest with himself, keeping the bear had been as much about holding on to _his_ memories as it was about Sam. Little Sammy had named the bear for him and imbued it with supernatural powers, and when Dean looked at the ratty old thing all he saw was the admiration and love his little brother had had for him. TeddyDean was proof that he had done something right with Sammy.

"Oh. Thanks, Dean. You know, I never really wanted to get rid of him."

"Yeah, Sammy, I know." Dean sighed. He smiled as his brother shifted gears and began to prattle on about his electro-whatever theory concerning the demon they had killed earlier.

Ten minutes and several jaw-popping yawns later Sam seemed to be drifting off again, but he roused himself for one more question.

"Dean, what do you hang on to? You know, from your childhood."

"Sam, go to bed." he mumbled, burying his face in the pillow. Sam chuckled but settled, his breathing gradually evening out and softening into sleep. Still awake, Dean listened to the gentle rhythm of _in out in out_ beside him, his brother's question replaying in his head.

_"Dean, what do you hang on to?"_

Watching Sam's sleeping form through the dark, he answered.

"You, Sammy. I hang on to you."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

AUTHOUR'S NOTE: Ta da! All done! Thanks to everyone for the kind feedback. It's encouragement to start my next project, guaranteed to contain more angst and fewer stuffed animals. :)


End file.
